To this day, even after 25 years, the smell of cocoa butter still arouses me and immediately brings me back to that brief time she shared with me. She used cocoa butter as her skin lotion. I used to watch her in the morning as she'd rub it on her beautiful dark skin.

the sexiest smell is the alluring, subtle scent of a man that lingers in the pillowcases like a long kiss goodnight. a scent that, even after it fades, reminds you of the warmth of two bodies intertwined; fingers locked, thigh on thigh, belly to belly...soul to soul.

We spent the day on the beach in surf and sun, I remember my skin prickling when the sun started to set. We made our way off the beach, the sand persistently clung to us as we made our way back to the car. Hidden in the dunes we kiss your lips taste of warm vanilla gloss.

You had borrowed it earlier putting it on while making silly kiss-kiss faces at me. While I laughed you leaned in to tell me how hard I make you when I laugh like that. Your lips brushing my neck as you pulled away and winked at me.

That moment and others, your hands under the waves or rubbing oil into my skin built our combined heat throughout the day and now with my knees in the sand I pull your shorts down. Your cock is cooler than your sun kissed skin and as I lean in eagerly I watch your face turn serious. I use my hand to stroke and lift your hardening cock, the other travels to your sac to massage while I look at you in the dying light. Your one hand reaches for my head and the other moves your shorts into a more comfortable position you pull me in towards your waiting cock. I lave your balls with my tongue and my nose rests at the base of you.

I inhale the salty sent of ocean, the island sent of sunscreen, warm vanilla, and the musk and maleness that is you.

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"Come into my lair..."
said the Spider to the fly..

Scents pull the memory into a time machine and send it directly into the past. Last century everyone in town raked leaves into large piles.
FYI, leaves are dropped foliage from deciduous trees. A rake is a manual tool consisting of a handle the height of the operator and a set of tines.
After building the mounds of leaves, children played in them. Once all of the leaves for that week were assembled, we burned them. It was possible to barbecue hot dogs or marshmallows over the bonfires.
That smoky fragrance of burning leaves still teases me from time to time, and I can never locate its source.

I also love the smell of cocoa butter on a black man while the smell of something more earthy or musky on a white man. If its the other way around, to me, the mix just isn't quite right. It's not as good.

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They say that the average male thinks about sex every 7 seconds. I'm not average and I'm not male.

In nature, I love the smell of fall in Minnesota. The air is brisk, but it's not cold enough for snowfall. The days are more languid, the streets and everyone in them seem more at ease and the grass and trees are speaking to one another, whispering to you softly in the breeze. The food smells like home with turkey, greens, cornbread, and delicious homemade pecan pie all waiting for you; the smells filling you with what's to come.

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They say that the average male thinks about sex every 7 seconds. I'm not average and I'm not male.

That gentle chemical smell of the nylons, the waft of the flesh beneath, a slight tinge of new sweat, and the warm scent of pussy heated up and wet with the expectation generated by being touched and smelled and kissed.

His underpants, flung atop the laundry basket, reduce me to the level of the animal. All lofty ideals and thousands of years of civilization are washed away in an instant and there's a slight tremor in my hand as I bring the flimsy scrap of cloth up to my nose. First off, there's the ripe, sweat-fustiness leached from his big, furry nuts disturbed by the acrid stench of a stray, stale drop of piss. My head spins as I inhale the ambrosial concoction and then slowly move to the treasure trove. In the seat of his undies, there where the cloth is thinnest, I inhale something faintly yeasty - like a whiff of Vegemite - and earthy; man musk almost as potent as stale ditch-water has impregnated this special spot. I am lost in his masculinity and all too quickly his undies become my spunk rag.

Cinnamon. It's just the right blend of spicy and sweet. It's strong and distinct, but not too pungent.

I used to make breakfast for one of my ex-boyfriends whenever I stayed over at his place, it was always something with cinnamon in it. He joked that it must be a love potion! The truth is, it smelled - and tasted - so divine on his tongue.

The cold crisp air of a sunny autumn day hits my face with the intensity of a lover's hand. I admire his silhouette as he opens the paper bags made for gathering leaves. Two rakes lie atop each other. We are supposed to be clearing the yard and donating the leaves to the Boy Scouts' composting drive.
He doesn't realize that when the leaves are piled high in one spot I will knock him on his ass into them, we will have fornicating sex under a blanket of leaves. Afterwards, everytime either one of us smells fallen leaves, our sexes will swell as our minds and bodies remember, preparing for another fornicating episode of outdoor sex.

The cold crisp air of a sunny autumn day hits my face with the intensity of a lover's hand. I admire his silhouette as he opens the paper bags made for gathering leaves. Two rakes lie atop each other. We are supposed to be clearing the yard and donating the leaves to the Boy Scouts' composting drive.
He doesn't realize that when the leaves are piled high in one spot I will knock him on his ass into them, we will have fornicating sex under a blanket of leaves. Afterwards, everytime either one of us smells fallen leaves, our sexes will swell as our minds and bodies remember, preparing for another fornicating episode of outdoor sex.

This is way funnier than sexy, but it was the first time I had a woman legitimately sniff me for almost a minute. It made my feel slightly uncomfortable and incredibly amused. I was presenting with a woman who was my mom's age and we had to practice together late one hot summer day. I had taken the week off water skiing, swimming, and fishing. Since we were up with the sun to be on the best water, I hadn't bathed in days. I'd interned to clean up before we practiced, but fell asleep in the hammock and arrived just in time. I got there after her and I was fairly certain the sunscreen, sweat, mixed gas & oil, & fish smell were going to knock her off the podium. I was preparing to apologize when the most unexpected thing happened. She leans into my personal space and inhales, not unlike being greeted by a dog, and gushes, "I love that smell!" Her body language was really reaffirming and it seemed as if she was swept away. I was speechless, trying to decide if I should apologize or remain silent as she snuffled my par fume au de lake water of the hot summer. I know smells can really bring back great memories. I just wonder what she was remembering.

Recently, I was turned onto Penhaligon's Blenheim Bouquet. It's complex; a mix of citrus, lavender, pepper, musk and pine. It's also sold as a masculine scent, but is fairly gender neutral. It comes off being more "sandalwood", "cedary", "peppery", "floral" or a combination of all on different people. It's incredibly complex, and it dances and changes as it wears.

I personally use Tea Rose oil, which is classic and clean without being cloying. Back in "the day", I loved the scent of Obsession mixed with sandalwood paste. I also like pheremones mixed with a good Amber paste.

Those are the scents which I find sexy, but I'm a very sensual person and love scent in general. I love to burn candles; my current ones are Christmas Cookie and Orange Cranberry. I love Vampire Blood insence - made with real vampires! I know because it says so. I also like vanilla-y stuff and cedar-y stuff, but really I run the gamut in my preference. Nothing too perfumy and nothing too strong, please! I don't like to taste someone's scent, I just want to enjoy it.

Remember people, less is sometimes more, and some people are scent sensitive. I always ask before I apply or light a candle. I would much prefer no scent at all than to kill someone with a scent they find annoying!

The scent that lingers in the muscle cars of the late 1960s. When I was growing up in my mom owned a classic, a 1967 Firebird convertible. I loved it whenever I was allowed to drive it - under direct threat of death should I ever floor it or wreck it.

I am not ashamed to admit to this day that I love that smell. I have a friend who owns a 69 Firebird and I take a moment to inhale deeply anytime I get the chance to get inside the car. He cracks up anytime I do. Somehow I think he knows it gets to me and revs my engines so to speak.